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“O-okay. Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize.”
“So—” I clear my throat, stopping myself from doing what he just told me not to. “Okay.”
I stab the last shrimp, shove it in my mouth, and reach for my wine.
“Is there something I can do?” I offer.
He looks up, holding my gaze. The fury there is obvious, but there’s also something more.
“Is Rafael around?”
I hate that a surge of jealousy rolls in my gut. How can I be upset about him being with Rafael if I don’t want to be with him? What he does is none of my business.
“I’m asking if I can do something,” I say, my pride and unrelenting need to be stubborn getting in the way.
“You can tell me if Rafael has left already,” he says.
I sigh. “He left this morning. A little while after you.”
He nods and pours himself a glass of wine before he begins to eat.
I finish my wine, grab my dishes, and stand.
“Stay,” he demands. I pause, and before I know what’s happening, I’m sinking back into the chair.
Why? Why do I listen to him?
“Okay…” I mutter.
“I’m not angry with you.” His words are softer, but not any less sharp.
“I didn’t think you were, but I don’t want to stick around and be your punching bag,” I assert.
He jerks his head up, his eyes softening. “You’re right. I apologize.”
I eye him carefully, not sure if he’s fucking with me.
“What do you need Rafael for? Is it something I can help you with?”
Why do I want him to say yes? Why do I want him to need me for something?
Because you need him to trust you.
Trust, Jordan. Trust.
Yeah, that’s totally why I’m doing it.
He holds my gaze for a moment. “Doubtful.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means Rafael lets me take my anger out on him in ways I’m certain you won’t allow.”
My lips form an O, and I nod.
Yet my pussy doesn’t seem to agree. She’s eager to know what exactly it is he does to Rafael and if she would enjoy it too.
